I Edinburgh professional male (33). slim. straight-acting. said to be amusing. seeks discreet sincere guy (23—33) toshare interests in the Arts. food. travel and may be more. Photo appreciated. Box No 78 2.

I Sincere. supportive. attractive male graduate (25) seeks similar female in newly adopted home town of lidinburgh. Light relief required from evening study and day job. Swap photo and letter. Box No 78 7.

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Gentle reader (note the singular) put your shell-like to the page and you will hear the wind raging. the sea crashing and me shivering. It is early and not quite light. The windows rattle like loose dentures and rain smacks the panes in gun-fire bursts. It is time the heating was on. the draughts plugged with old newspapers. the chimney swept and the fire lit. This is not my time ofday. If] had my way I‘d still be in bed. savouring that halfaslcep feeling that is best experienced in a tent or a caravan. But up I am and not even watching the cycling in Seoul.

The reason is simple: the weekend was a washout. a dead duck workwise. My trouble is I‘m addicted to print. It is not so long ago that the weekend ration consisted of The Scotsman and The Sunday Post. neither very taxing nor time-comsuming reading. By the time I‘d excavated a boiled egg and been tea-mugged and toasted the day was my own. a blank page waiting fora kid with wax crayons to seribble all over it.

Now on Saturdays l‘ve defected to the Independent and on Sundays 1 lug home the Observer and the Sunday Times. Each weekend. so I‘ve been told. I get through the equivalent of A la recherche du temps perdu. twice. lean well

believe it. But still I read the papers cover to cover. simmering because no one has asked me to capsule my hectic life in a day. to describe my favourite room or nominate my hero. The result is crippling inactivity.

So if it‘s not over-craving your indulgence I'll give you the three in one. hero first. I‘ve thought long and hard about this and have decided that a hero ought to be dead and real. no one from fiction in other words. At different times I‘ve had different heroes. At one time I couldn't see past Jimmy (ireaves and by the look of him these days you probably can‘t without taking a detour. After he was sent offin a Southern League match he was supplanted by Dougal

llaston. the (‘urrie climber who could also write a bit and who died skiing in Switzerland. I'm always tickled by the story he told in his autobiography about being storm-bound for days in the Himalayas with Don \\'liill;iiis. the egg-shaped English climber. ‘What's that you're reading." asked Whillans. ‘l.ord ofthe Rings.‘ said llaston. ‘want to try it‘." 'Fucking fairies.‘ said Whillans declining the offer.

But my constant hero is Balzac. llonore dc. to whom I owe more delusions than any other. Fat. French and infatuated with forty year-olds he was everything I would like to be. ()nce on a radio programme with Billy Kay. to

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discuss w hat the books on our sllel\ es revealed about ourselves. I said i had grow n up with Bal/ac.

':\tid he‘s sitting on his Bal/acs now.

quipped the Seottophile. ‘so he can reach the microphone.‘

Balzac. to moy e on to the room ol my own. is all around me here.

Books furnish this room which \like

shelved. from floor to ceiling. as soon as we moved in. The books are jammed tight and have spilled on to the floor where they lie in piles. I work at a .scrul'l'y architect's drawing board which I bought from a lriend lot' a bottle of Beatiiolais. .\lost ol it is given over to the Amstl‘atl. w hat’s left is covered in books and mugs with pens and pencils. ‘l’he little lree space ol'w all is given oy er to drawings and photos, either oi or by friends; (ierry Mangan’s caricatures of Norman .\lac(‘aig and Anthony Burgess. a doodle .‘ylarin Sorescu did in the Dorie. l larry llot'se\ Rl.S. a photograph of l 'pdike looking as vacant as l probably do now. a tinted photograph ol.»\bbotslord that Shelley Rose unearthed in a iunk shop in Victoria Street before it became bijou. 'l‘here‘s not much more to it than that. .-\nd the lite in a day? Which day would you like‘.’ 'l‘oday‘.’ If you don't mind. can I have a day to think about it'.’